I’ve been told before, that when I feel like using foul language on my blog I should pace around the room for 20 minutes before I look up less colourful alternatives than my intuitive original expression of my fury. It’s advice I find myself in situations like this fucking unable to take.
Just a few days ago I was apoplectic at the news that the university was getting Joseph Muscat’s wife on as a guest on their radio station, holding her towel as she laundered her reputation.
But look at this.
I don’t care if these people were meeting to find a cure for cancer, or to land a woman on Mars, or to resolve the question of conflict in the Middle East. Michelle Muscat was there for none of these reasons however well she has developed the art of looking like the innocent flower but being the smuggled nuclear waste glowing under it.
There are opposition MPs in that photo for crying out loud. Look at them grinning like it’s the school prize day. They are as delighted to feature in a DOI press release as manga nymphs with some hydra’s tentacle clawing its way up their recta, tickling the tail end of their spines. There may be metaphoric tentacles in that picture, but no fucking spines.
Yes, PN MPs, it’s so cool of you to advocate for Michelle Muscat on her way to canonisation, for that’s what you do when you pose for a family picture with Herman Goering.
Towels is what you are.